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Ff®i K. Piss 



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Fred Ko Di 



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Copyright, 1921 
by Fred K. Dix 
Prospect, Ohio 



Published by Fred K. Dix, Prospect, Ohio. 

Price 50c, postpaid, 

OhC 16 1921 ©"I-A630845 



CJjrisitmasj 



'Tis Christmas morn! 
This day a gift of Heavenly Love is born, 
When light of hope gleams forth from every face, 
And all the earth is wrapped in one embrace. 
No other day is man to man so near 

In all the year. 

In manger low, 
In Bethlehem, so many years ago, 
A babe was born, with light of Love Divine, 
Whose Guiding Star has never ceased to shine. 
A world to save, Christ suffered death and pain, 

But rose again. 

The shepherds heard 
A multitude of angels sing God's word 
Of "Peace on Earth." The world of night 
That day dawned into everlasting light. 
God's gift was Life to all that Christmas morn, 

When Christ was born. 



tE^ratkin' 3n tf)e ^noto 



The dreary days of autumn ain't much pleasure for 

us boys, 
So we just have to tough them out and wait for 

winter Joys. 
Then winter comes a-sneakin' on before we think 

of it; 
And when it snows, we drive to town, our winter 

boots to get. 
Then I don't care how cold it grows, Vm dressed up 

snug and warm. 
I muffle up, put on my boots and try them in the 

storm. 
I wade right through the drifted spots and all around 

just so. 
When I get cold, right through the house, Vm 

trackin' in the snow. 



When I get boots for 'bout a day or so I'm awful 

good, 
I sweep the porch and walk off clean and carry ma 

some wood; 
I work so hard and steady-like the folks are kinder 

moved. 
And then I hear them whisperin' 'round, ''My, 

hasn't he improved!" 
Pa says these 'provements have to last, if not, my 

boots go back. 
But when they get skuffed-up and gashed, I'm in 

the same old track. 
I soon grow tired workin' 'round for ma scolds me, 

you know. 
When I go through the kitchen, 'cause I'm trackin' 

in the snow. 



i:ratfein' 3n tfje ^nolu 



When school lets out I hurry home to get my sled, 

then hike; 
I leave my evenin' chores undone and sneak off 

down the pike. 
I join the jolly fellers coastin' down the snowy hill. 
'Tis often we have smash-ups and a sledload of us 

spill 
All in a drift, full boot-top deep, my boots with 

snow get full, 
Then soon it melts and squashes and my sled's so 

hard to pull. 
I kick the step and stomp and stomp — what sticks 

I just let go, 
For ma's most always sweepin' when I'm trackin' 

in the snow. 



Oh, my! I'm sick and sorry when I wake up in the 

morn. 
My head is hot, my throat feels sore, my boots 

hang all forlorn. 
I hear the shoutin' fellers on their way to school at 

play. 
I hear the sleigh bells jingle, jingle near, then far 

away. 
Ma ties me up with flannel, spread with lard and 

turpentine. 
She holds my nose and makes me take some bitter 

old quinine. 
She keeps the house so dark and still and whispers 

awful low. 
But things will soon be lively, when I'm trackin' in 

the snow. 



Cratfein* M tlje ^noto 



My, but its bitter medicine they give when I get 

sick; 
No wonder I get better when the river's frozen 

slick, 
And the fellers all are skatin'— and there's sleighin' 

everywhere — 
I love the merry jingle and the whip-crack in the 

air! 
I grease my boots with taller, muffle up my neck 

and chin, 
I'm mighty sly of slushy snow and hickory ice 

that's thin. 
Ma says I mustn't trespass— guess I know 'bout 

where to go, 
Just so my boots ain't squashin' and I'm trackin' 

in no snow. 



^0 ^ Hittle #reen l^ug 

Oh, little green bug on my paper, 

That breaks the faint chord of my theme, 
So careless you frolic and caper. 

Disturbing the vision I dream; 
For only you come when I utter 

A song when the evening is damp, 
To scatter my thoughts as you flutter 

And circle the light of my lamp. 

Oh, little inquisitive stranger, 

You come to me out of the sky. 
And here on my desk you're in danger. 

So haste you, then, upward and fly! 
You linger — Oh, there I have crushed you! 

Now all that is left is a blot. 
Although now I grieve that I hushed you, 

Your message is not soon forgot. 

For often the humblest of creatures 

We scoff at, we scorn and we kill, 
Are sometimes the noblest of teachers 

With lessons of love to instill. 
The bug that I thought to molest me 

And over my song seemed to cling. 
Perchance had a mission to test me 

To see if Fm worthy to sing. 



Hife'si #artien 



Our lives are like gardens 

Of beautiful flowers, 
Receiving rich blessings 

Of sunshine and showers. 

Our virtues are blossoms, 

Our vices are weeds. 
Let's walk in our garden 

And see what it needs. 

Truth, love and kindness. 

Are flowerets fair, 
While envy and malice 

Are weeds growing there. 

The world's what we make it- 
By thoughts and by deeds*; 

Let's walk in life's garden 
And drop in good seeds. 



Ef)e i^pmpfi of tlje Waterfall 

Oh, gently-rising rainbow-wooing mist, 
Sweet daughter of the foaming waterfall, 
Flee from thy thundering torrent's rocky 
wall. 

To dim, enchanted shores to keep thy tryst. 

Oh, where are eyes thy beauty could resist. 
Fair, queenly maid attired as for a ball? 
(List' to thy grumbling parent in her hall!) 

And, in thy coquetry, my brow is kissed. 

On down the crags thy mother torrent leaps, 
Whilst thou lithe nymph dost rise on pearly 
wings. 

Thy graceful form across the threshold creeps, 
And on thy breast the sun her rainbow flings. 

Fly to some fairy strand where ocean sweeps, 
Where sea-shells echo love-sweet murmurings. 



^\)t ^f)j>tl)m of tfje tresis; 

Oh, there's somethin' 'bout a print-shop 

That's so lurin' to my heart, 
And, when in some bustlin' city, 

'Tis the place for which I start. 
Can't explain its soothin' feelin' 

To my weary soul, unless 
It's the smell of ink and rollers. 

And the rhythm of the press. 

I was once a printer's devil 

On the Prospect Monitor, 
Settin' type and feedin' presses 

On their squeaky office floor; 
Did the sweepin', washed the windows. 

Fed the growlin' dog, and jes' 
Couldn't keep from writin' poems. 

To the rhythm of the press. 

Like again to be a *prentice. 

Clad in ink-stained overalls, 
Foldin' papers, washin' rollers — 

Pastin' clippin's on the walls. 
Though my face and hands were inky, 

I was learnin' more or less 
Every day, some mighty lesson. 

From the rhythm of the press. 



(!^lb prospect 



I want to go back to old Prospect again, 

On the banks of Scioto, you know. 
The river that flows with a rippling refrain, 

Where the cat-tails and sycamores grow. 

I want to stroll down there to old "Sugar Lump," 
Where in summer we lads used to swim. 

Head-first in its dark murky water to jump. 
Or dive from a sleek willow limb. 

I want to go back to the Battle Run bridge. 

And stoop for a drink at the spring. 
Or stroll down the pike to the school on the ridge, 

And throw at the birds on the wing. 

I want to go fishing again at Dili's hole, 
Where the big yellow "cats" used to bite; 

With earth-worms for bait and a sprig for a pole. 
We hooked them from morning till night. 

I want to go back where wild-flowers shed perfume, 
Where life's free and a fellow is glad. 

Take me back to old Prospect — there's plenty of 
room — 
And give me the heart of a lad. 



tl^t Country i^etDiSpaper 



Up through my office window came the city's cease- 
less din, 

I just had paused a moment when the evening mail 
came in — 

A pile of business letters and the papers with the 
news 

Of wars and murders, fires and wrecks — most any- 
thing rd choose. 

I cast them one by one aside, and found beneath 
them all, 

A homely country paper, blurred with ink and 
somewhat small. 

That drew my full attention to its columns up and 
down — 

The little weekly Monitor they print in my home 
town. 



This country paper always tells of things in quiet 

tone. 
It deals not with the outside world, but topics all 

its own. 
It tells about the folks who visit in and out of town ; 
That meat is soaring upward, and that eggs are 

going down; 
That some old chum is married, or a lifelong friend 

has died; 
The stork has brought the newly weds their bouncing 

joy and pride. 
This paper strikes a tender chord when far away 

you roam. 
For one is always glad to hear what's going on 

at home. 



l^fje Countrp J^etusipaper 



It's short on punctuation and in spelling, I admit; 
Some letters, too, are upside down; it's smeared 

with ink a bit. 
Its face is worn and haggard and the news is mostly- 
late, 
Sometimes because the make-up man forgets to 

change the date. 
It's welcome to my office for it brings me joy and 

rest; 
It lets me live an hour each week with friends I've 

loved the best. 
It brings a homelike feeling, and I'm happy to 

confess, 
I was once their printer's devil — "settin' type and 

feedin' press." 



My love arises as do knights to arms 

To 'siege the queenly kingdom of thy heart ! 
Thy glittering ramparts, safe from swords and 
darts, 

Wait 'neath bright banners, warrior's loud alarms. 

Unbar thy treasure-house — love seldom harms — 
The queenliest of earthly queens thou art. 

My love arises as do knights to arms, 
To 'siege the queenly kingdom of thy heart! 

Through vast domains of cities, groves and farms, 
Past guarded walls and gates and pons, I start 
To lead my host, claiming a conqueror's part. 

To take thy palace, share thy throne and charms, 

My love arises as do knights to arms. 



Wf\o Jf inbss a bonnet 

Who finds a sonnet, scales sheer mountain wails, 
That from the ocean's depth abruptly rise. 
To pluck a diamond from the starry skies — 

Or, dives for pearls in plunging waterfalls. 

'Midst angry foam and rocks, where death enthralls. 
Are found earth's precious gems of richest dyes. 
Who finds a sonnet, shows to mortal eyes, 

A new star wrought in heaven's dazzling halls, 

Who finds a sonnet, holds a drop of dew. 
That whispers of some far-off isle of bliss. 

A sonnet is a tear — a rose that grew 
In Friendship's garden — a caress, a kiss. 

Sonnets are notes of angels sifted through 
The radiant stars, murmuring of songs we miss. 



3©oton ^long tfje Creefe 

Boys, today Fm thinking of 
All the things I used to love 

Down along the creek. 
When we fellows used to go 
In the summer sunbeam's glow, 
Where the sparkling waters flow, 

Down along the creek. 

From my chores I oft would slip 
For my daily summer's dip, 

Down along the creek. 
Bullfrog in his gayest trim 
Sat and watched us fellows swim, 
Clubs and rocks we threw at him, 

Down along the creek. 

When the sun sank in the west. 
Came the lulling song of rest 

Down along the creek. 
When the bullfrogs sang to sleep 
All us fellows, out they'd creep, 
Mocking us they'd swim and leap, 

Down along the creek. 



Boton ^long t!)e Creek 

Oh, could I but once more wade 
In the waving willow's shade, 

Down along the creek! 
How our future dreams were planned, 
When we played there in the sand, 
As boys do, you understand, 

Down along the creek. 

Other boys now go to play. 
In the same old careless way, 

Down along the creek. 
Other croaking frogs are there. 
Other songbirds in the air, 
Other wildflowers blooming fair, 

Down along the creek. 



€i)e 0t\)tv iWan 

Let's think of the other man 
Once in awhile 
As we journey along. 
Let's think of the other man, 
Let's make him smile 
And cheer him with song. 
Let's think of the other man. 

Let's think of the other man, 
Weary and lorn, 
This very hour. 
Let's think of the other man, 
Pull up a thorn 
And plant a flower. 
Let's think of the other man. 

Let's think of the other man. 
Smooth out his way 
And help lift his load. 
Let's think of the other man, 
Maybe some day 
We'll meet on the road; 
Let's think of the other man. 



3 ^toob ^mong tfje Cberlas^ting 



I stood among the everlasting hills, 
That sunbeams gild from dawn till evening's close, 
While morning's mist, as sacred incense, rose 

From smiling valleys, lulled by crooning rills. 

The music of the daybreak swells and fills 
The valley till its melody overflows 
And drowns within its flood, the night of woes. 

My heart with peace and joy and gladness thrills! 

The effulgent sun ascends and shadows fall 
And lengthen in the verdant vale below, 

Where bounteous farms and thronging cities all 
Awake, and toiling men press to and fro. 

Unmindful of these gold-crowned heights. The call 
And grandeur of God's hills so few men know! 



tE^t ^notu=sitorm 



How the white fluttering 
Snowflakes are falling 
Silently down, 
Over the town ! 
Night wind is muttering, 
Church bells are calling, 
Earth wears a crown. 



Street lights are shimmering 
Through the bright dancing 
Jewels of air, 
Shapeless and fair; 
Twinkling and glimmering 
Snowflakes, enhancing 
Earth everywhere. 

Snow clouds low hovering 
O'er earth, soon whiten 
Seared autumn leas. 
Brooklets and trees, 
Cottage roofs covering; 
Dark hearths soon brighten, 
Hearts bask at ease. 



^f), Crus;t tfje ?|eart 



Oh, trust the heart — the heart is ever true! 
Thy conscience it will guide, as some small star 
By sailors on the sea is watched afar, 

While Friendship's barque. Doubt's wave is strug- 
gling through. 

Oft' cloud and sea this lone star hide from view, 
Nor fog bells sound along the sandy bar. 

Oh, trust the heart — the heart is ever true. 
Thy conscience it will guide as some small star. 

Oh, trust the heart, its haven sky is blue. 
Where sunlight sheds its gilt on mast and spar: 
Though Night's wild storm frail Friendship's 
craft would mar, 

At daybreak seek the way the land birds flew. 

Oh, trust the heart — the heart is ever true! 



Eibing 



Let's live for a day as we ought to live, 
And give our tithes as we ought to give. 

Let's sing our songs as we ought to sing, 
And cling to truth as we ought to cling. 

Let's toil along as we ought to toil. 
In office, factory, shop or soil. 

To live this way — and yet we could; 
A heaven we'd make, if we only would. 

Let's live for a day as we ought to live, 
Let's stop fault-finding and others forgive. 

Unloose our treasures, kindness and smiles, 
And sunshine add to the world's long miles. 

Let's help our brothers their burdens to bear; 
Let's also pray — we have need for prayer. 

To live this way — and yet we could; 
A heaven we'd make, if we only would. 



jFoUerin' Mat 



Vm askin' your pardon for dreamin' today 

Of friends long forgotten and gone far away. 

The older Fm growin', the more I prefer 

The past to the present — the old days that were— 

And mostly I wish I was just a wee lad, 

Back on the old farm follerin' dad. 

When medders were green and the mornin's were 

mild, 
The sun o'er the misty fields rose up and smiled, 
And shot through my winder its rays at the gloom, 
I Voke with a bound in my low attic room. 
The day welcomed me with the long hours it had. 
Back on the old farm follerin' dad. 

I follered him plowin' and plantin' the field. 

And later in season to gather the yield, 

When blackbirds and robins there hopped on the 

ground, 
Gatherin' food for their young—one day I found 
An Indian relic, when just a wee lad — 
Back on the old farm follerin' dad. 

Through sunshine and shadder, o'er hill and o'er 

plain, 
I'm barefooted follerin' in mem'ry again. 
Night falls and the cattle come up to the bars, 
I foller forever out under the stars, 
I'm searchin' the heavens for pleasure I've had 
Back on the old farm follerin' dad. 



^unsset 



Shadows of evening o'er Prospect were falling, 

Birds to their young ones were winging their way, 
Down through the village the church bells were 
calling — 
Slowly the autumn sun sank with the day; 
Light on the eastern sky. 
Light on the treetops high — 
Brilliant the crimson and gold-flooded w^est. 
Birds on their homeward flight 
Tokened the coming night 
Slowly the day star was sinking to rest. 

BrilUantly decked was day's monarch retiring. 

Clouds fringed with gold was the mantle he wore. 
Blue marble halls his rich colors were firing, 
The train of his garments the trailing moon bore. 
Billowy clouds would break. 
Forming a silvery lake. 
The tints of the rainbow at hide-and-seek played ; 
Darkness and light would sparr 
Sprightly, till every star 
Gleamed on night's sparkling bosom arrayed. 



UBRARX„>.9r. 



CONGRESS 



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